Every other article about love at the moment has a title similar to this one, a play on Gabriel Garcia Márquez’ novel Love in the Time of Cholera.

If you haven’t read it, it’s the story of a love triangle across a lifetime, between an obsessive romantic, a rational doctor and a level-headed heroine who gets all the best lines (“Very well, I will marry you if you promise not to make me eat eggplant.”).*

When I was younger I was always intrigued by Florentino — the obsessive romantic. He compares his symptoms of love to Cholera and says things like “The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love”. At the same time, he spends most of the book having sex with pretty much every woman he sees.

That’s right. Florentino is a textbook fuckboy.

But imagine a modern-day Florentino, being good and self-isolating. How can he possibly have sex with every woman he sees if he can’t see anyone? What happens to his life of free love with no freedom? And what does it mean for those of us who share some of his tendencies?

Let’s dig deep.

What makes a fuckperson the way they are, why “they” is really “we”, why it can be dangerous. And how it might take a global pandemic that keeps us apart and alone to save us from an endless pattern of distance and loneliness.

Fuckboys, fuckgirls, fuckpeople

If you’re not familiar with the term, here’s Nancy Jo Sales’ definition from this article that did the rounds back in 2015:

“A ‘fuckboy’ is a young man who sleeps with women without any intention of having a relationship with them or perhaps even walking them to the door post-sex. He’s a womanizer, an especially callous one, as well as kind of a loser.”

I’d contest the callous nature and the general absence of respect — for reasons I’ll get into later — but the womanizing, the lack of an interest in a relationship, and the deep-down loser status is on point.

I’d also broaden it to fuckperson. Fuckery is not bound by gender, orientation or even species (if you identify as a beaver, that’s your decision. But, for so, so many reasons, let’s stay all the way away from “fuckbeaver”.)

Over the last ten years, I’ve been friends with fuckpeople. I’ve advised those who fell into the volatile orbital magnetism of fuckery. And — here goes — I’ve been called a fuckboy more than a few times. It’s a mindset I understand.

In the interest of humanising our fuckperson, we should give them a name. And in the interest of gender-neutrality, let’s call our fuckperson Alex.

Who is Alex?

Alex is sleeping with multiple people at the same time. That’s the defining characteristic, but I’ve found there are plenty of others that fit.

Alex is not cruel. All of his partners know about the fuckery. Maybe Alex simply said “I’m seeing other people’’. Or maybe Alex wrapped it up in a sage-smelling speech about “not believing in monogamy or monoamory, the soul can’t be restricted by societal norms”. It’s the same damn thing.

Of course, it’s a whole other rabbit hole if these people are not okay with it. So, for now, let’s assume that they are. Try to fight the urge to feel sorry for them. Strong people need something casual too, sometimes.

Alex is socially adept and empathetic. This charisma is a big part of the attraction. Alex is the kind of person who makes you feel intensely seen while you are together, and it’s easy to forget that you aren’t the only one.

Alex dreams of The One. It’s an idealised, impossibly perfect image. In my experience, a lot of Alexes believe they have already met The One. Whether they messed it up or circumstances got in the way, they hold this idolised figure in their mind and it acts as a distancing tool. Why would they go too deep with someone new when they’re just waiting for someone else?

Alex is the modern-day Florentino, who obsessively held onto a youthful romance. When Fermina (his love) married, he remained “spiritually faithful” as he moved between a total of 622 women (yep, six-hundred-and-twenty-two), using his lost love as an excuse to never connect with anyone.

A very different source covers this “waiting for the one” idea beautifully. How I Met Your Mother. Don’t sneer. It was a show full of sneaky insights and the relevant gem here is the idea of The Hook. Florentino is on a hook. Alex is on a hook. We’re all on somebody’s hook until we choose to get the hell off.

You can judge Alex. You probably should. But before you dismiss Alex as a waste of air, consider how often we all exhibit these characteristics. Every time we message multiple potential love-interests, keep in touch with an ex in the distant hope that something might happen “later on”, or fall into the hypnotic rhythm of Tinder. There’s a little of Alex in all of us.

How did we become fuckpeople?

It’s a matter of enablement.

The Paradox of Choice. The first time I came to Berlin, I got drunk with my Airbnb host on his balcony and listened to his views on how Grindr was the “Death of Love”, for him at least. We all know that more choice makes a decision harder, but he talked about this study that suggests the more choice we have, the less likely we choose at all. So with our “unlimited choices” in sex and love — whether Grindr or simply a hedonistic party scene like Berlin — then “we stay single forever” (his words).

He also pointed out that even when you begin a relationship, choice screws us again. One argument, one doubt, one flash of panic when we start to show vulnerability — and it’s far too easy to bail out or self-sabotage. It just takes one message asking someone over. And before the anger, doubt or panic fades, they’re in your bed. And you’ve fucked it up.

Relationships become an exercise in now. Each “option” is judged and acted-upon based on what you want right now rather than what you know you need. They are the emotional equivalent of opening seventeen PornHub tabs. There’s so much choice that if you’re done before making your way through them all, you end with a creeping sense of disappointment and “What if…”

Neo-Spiritual Fuckery. Spiritualism is a wonderful channel into getting to know yourself better, to accept and love yourself. I’ve learned more than I can express from it. But fuckpeople increasingly use the language of a conscious lifestyle as a manipulative tool. Watch this to get an idea.

We fool ourselves by thinking that Alex is easy to spot. Just because someone wears baggy pants, smells like Palo Santo and is open about overcoming childhood trauma through vipassana, they can still be Alex in disguise.

Affären, Amoríos. In English, there is no easy word for a casual relationship, only those that make it sound seedy or transactional. “Fuckbuddy”, “friend with benefits”. Even “affair” can only be extramarital. If you don’t have a word for something casual, you can’t understand it as a concept.

In Berlin, “Affäre” is something else. Sure, it can translate directly, but more often it is a love affair, a fling. Like the Spanish “Amorío”, it represents the grey area between a one-night-stand and a relationship. A casual, easy exploration, getting to know someone and seeing where it develops. Or simply fun with no expectations. There’s a word for it, we understand it, so it’s socially accepted.

The problem begins when this ease and acceptance take over, and it becomes the default. Without pressure, we fall into a pattern. We flitter from Affäre to Affäre, Amorío to Amorío, blinded by choice and incapable of focus.

That’s the problem with Free Love. We mistake “free” for “plentiful” and don’t figure out the mistake until we’re left with no love at all.

An Inescapable Pattern

Casual relationships are not bad, but neither are they good. They just are. Good or bad depends on what you’re looking for.

So consider Alex. Like so many of us, the goal is something with real depth.

I’m not talking about the rush of excitement, the romanticised pain and obsession that we have all mistaken for love. I’m talking about the slow-build of trust and openness that are the basis for something real and lasting.

Alex’s kind of casual let’s-see-what-happens can appear to be a way into love, and maybe Alex believes it will be. In reality, it’s almost impossible to get attached to anybody when you don’t focus on anybody.

Here’s why (with graphs).

Disclaimer: The following is not science. It’s not peer-reviewed academic research. It’s a visualisation of the inner workings of my mind. So please wipe your feet on the way in and beware of the bears.

A traditional, two-person dance

Take a regular, old-school, two-person courtship. You meet someone. You enjoy each other’s company. Then, once you part, you think about how great it was, message each other a little and arrange to meet again. You look forward to it until the moment you meet again.

Mapping out how the attachment grows, it might look something like this:

Each repetition builds on the last as you learn more, experience more and go deeper into each other. It ends up as a wonderful curving sweep through building trust, then healthy attachment, until you find yourself falling in love.

Nice, right? Now consider Alex.

Alex and the dance of fuckery

Imagine we’re back in the days before quarantine. Alex is seeing three people. Call them Billy, Charlie and Dana. Just like before, Alex meets someone (Billy), they enjoy the experience, then they part.

But then, Alex meets Charlie and his attachment to Billy falls away.

Why? Alex is entirely present while with Billy, or with Charlie, or later on with Dana. This ability to focus on one person at a time, to compartmentalise emotions, is the only way to keep this lifestyle — and Alex — from imploding.

The rising flows of the two-person dance are gone. While each relationship never falls back to being like strangers, it never progresses very far. Over time, Alex ends up in a more cyclical pattern:

If you’re thinking it looks like a total mess, it is. Even if one person ends it, Alex will find someone new. Alex is now rarely alone, and any solitary time is spent looking forward to the next, next, next.

This isn’t a Márquez novel. Alex won’t marry The One at an old age (spoiler). The One is not waiting for Alex - if they ever existed in any form but an angelic glow. The truth is that Billy, or Charlie, or Dana could be The One. Anybody could be. But the erratic pattern doesn’t give the space — or time — to find out.

The chain will continue unless Alex ends things with all three at once, and that’s not going to happen. This needs something drastic.

Self-isolation to the rescue.

Breaking the Chain

The only way out of this pattern is to break it. To take a month or longer without any physical intimacy. A Free Love detox. And that’s exactly what Alex is doing in self-isolation.

A lot of us are realising right now that this time of self-isolation is only manageable when you share it with someone. Not multiple people — we’re not allowed — but a person. Someone who knows you intimately, who you can share the fear, the loneliness, everything with. Just like real life.

In Love in the Time of Cholera, Florentino’s “one love” marries the doctor. So while Florentino is sleeping around, she experiences all the wonderful and terrible and boring and exciting elements of monogamy. In Corona times, this is the only love that exists. Comfort and solace. A perpetual Monday-night-in.

There is no Free Love in the Time of Corona. And without it, Alex finally has a chance to be truly free.

To finally take the time to be alone. To remember how it feels to be lonely, and that it’s necessary sometimes. To reset the ability to focus and care. To figure out who — if anyone — would be the choice if there was only one choice.

Then, when this is all over, Alex can make a choice and go from there. Slower, more conscious, and feeling infinitely more free.

— -

*This summary of Márquez is so ridiculously simplified it hurts. For an excellent analysis from a feminist perspective, read this.

If you’ve ever suffered from depression — most of us have at some point — you might be familiar with the kind of self-isolation that it blankets you with. Choosing isolation feels so natural. Now that we’re all facing weeks at home, more of us than ever before are at risk of suffering from some depressive symptoms if we aren’t used to it as a way of life.

I work as a writer. Articles, speeches, anything “content”. When I’m not getting paid for it, I write for myself. So I spend three or four days a week without human contact. It’s not unusual to meet friends on a Friday without having made eye contact since Wednesday. If I go away to work on my own fiction, it can be even longer. You could say that it’s my job to self-isolate.

As I grew used to it, I figured out ways to go through long periods of solitude and keep a healthy mind. Now that I’ve been doing it for years, I’ve grown to genuinely love it. Here’s a little advice on how you can make it through, and even make the best of your solitary time ahead.

Start your day like a human

Don’t get out of bed and go straight to your desk. Take a shower as soon as possible. End it with cold water for a while. Now you’re feeling human, don’t put back on what you just wore to bed. It sounds obvious now, but by day five a little voice will creep in and start asking “What’s the point?”

The point is to remind yourself that you’re taking today, every day, seriously. Some people put on a shirt. I have a friend who wears perfume to work from home because it makes her feel professional. Others say you should dress for an important meeting. You are, in a way, with yourself.

I say keep it comfortable, somewhere between pyjamas and a suit. Imagine a potential love-interest stopped by (they won’t, deadly virus and all). Would you be embarrassed if they saw you like this? If not, you’re good.

Define your working space

It’s called Home Office for a reason. Make your space feel like it. Pick your dedicated “getting shit done” spot. If you don’t, the line between work and relaxation blurs fast. Keep these two parts of your life as separate as possible.

If you have a desk, use it. Back in London, before I had a desk, I picked a specific chair at the kitchen table. You can do the same. Don’t work on the couch. And never, ever in your bed. That’s for two things only.

Find somewhere you can enter flow, where everything else falls away. My desk is at the window, so the only distraction is a tree blowing in the wind. If you need WiFi, make sure the connection isn’t skittish. Nothing kills a flow worse than the Chrome dinosaur apologising for a dropped connection.

Use your voice (and your face)

Human contact is essential if you want to keep your head together. True, I often go without it for days, but that’s only when I know there’s a Berlin weekend ahead, full of nothing but excessive human contact. It might sound counterintuitive to seeking a flow, but the two aren’t mutually exclusive.

The trick is to message less and call more. Set aside 45 minute periods of focus (I go on flight mode), then take 15-minute breaks to call people. Video is best, but simple audio is fine. Human faces and voices make people real, helping you to avoid solipsistic syndrome (where you feel alone in the universe).

Exchange voice notes like little letters. Call your parents far more than you think you need — it’ll still be less than they’d like. Don’t talk about how much it sucks to be at home. Talk about what you’re doing, what they are doing, what you’re excited about, what they are excited about. Be excited together.

Pick your people

My mum always used to tell me to surround myself with people who are kind. I never got her point until I overstretched myself with people who sucked more energy than they gave. People who took time and gave back a sense of low-level anxiety.

Use this is as a time of minimal contact to pick your people. Make sure that anyone you speak to makes you feel good. People you can laugh with, have conversations with that make you feel inspired, anything that makes you leave the interaction somehow better than when you went in. If you know who they are, talk to the people who genuinely care about how you are, the kind ones.

Listen to the music (woah-oh)

Too much silence can be oppressive. Without external input, your thought processes can begin to spiral. At times like this, fill your head with music. It bypasses everything and transports you outside the walls of your apartment.

Wake up to something that you’d normally dance to. I have a morning playlist to kicks me into the mood. Disclaimer: if you don’t like disco as much as me (not many people do) then maybe find something less aggressively happy.

For work, pick something that helps put you into a flow. Anything that makes the world fall away until it’s just you and your work. Movie soundtracks are great, as are classical piano playlists or electronic music with no lyrics. There are plenty of YouTube or Spotify playlists, just search for “concentrate”.

Move yourself

You know that exercise brings oxygen to the brain, releases neurotransmitters like endorphins that ease pain and stress. Dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin to regulate your mood. This is nothing new. And if you’ve broken a leg and been stuck in bed, you’ll know how it can affect your mental health.

Go out for a walk (as I write this, we’re still allowed on the streets in Berlin). I prefer running. I work until the afternoon — when my brain starts to slow — then put on my running shoes. It’s meditative (Murakami got that right) so you can clear out the cabin fever, recharge your brain and reset yourself.

If you can’t go outside (whether you’re on lockdown or simply afraid) then exercise in your apartment. I’m not going to touch the topic of workout regimes at home. Google is your friend here. Move more, feel better.

Eat like you’re not alone

Food is more than food. You know this. But it’s easy to forget with nobody around to judge your five-bowls-a-day cereal habit. I used to eat so much oatmeal that my university housemates called me The Porridge Guy. Really.

Living in Hong Kong I learned to treat food as a ritualistic part of the day, time to disconnect from work, put yourself in another context. Even now, I use it to break up a monotonous day. You might see a theme here — creating as much contextual variation as possible while remaining in the same space.

So when you eat breakfast — or just while coffee brews — set aside some time to eat away from your desk. For all other meals, recognise that cooking is another meditative act of creation that flips you over to a different part of your brain. You don’t have to make something Instagrammable, just take time to focus on what you’re about to put in your face.

Watch all the movies

If music helps you break out of spiralling thought processes, movies take those thought processes and set them aside entirely, while you focus your mind and emotions on people who aren’t you. As the late, great Roger Ebert put it:

“The movies are like a machine that generates empathy.
It lets you understand a little bit more about different hopes, aspirations, dreams and fears.”

After a day spent writing alone, I almost always watch a movie. To be clear: not a series, a feature film. That way, it’s an immersive, self-contained story that temporarily puts you in a world outside the realms of your couch. Science fiction is perfect, or anything that put you deep into the lives of the characters

So work through that list of “movies to watch” you have on your phone. Or find a “must-watch” list online. Just skip the disaster movies or anything about a deadly virus. They might feel a little too real.

Read fiction (not self-help)

If movies are a machine for generating empathy, fiction is an exercise in empathy. If it’s done well, you picture the scene, speak the dialogue in your head, smell the room and feel the emotions. You’re really there.

I love this study from back in 2006 that found a connection between reading fiction and increased empathy. Fiction readers had better interpersonal reactivity and were able to interpret the emotions of others more easily.

The opposite was true for people who read mostly non-fiction (business, self-help etc). It makes sense. Non-fiction usually speaks to you directly, so you only exercise your ability to think about yourself. Admittedly, all of that applies to this article… but this is different. Somehow. Probably.

Anyway. While you’re self-isolating, don’t read business or self-help books. Read some fiction before bed, during the day, whenever. It can be classic literature (the ones you lie about having read), the weekly New Yorker stories, or the Harry Potter series for the seventh time. It doesn’t matter as long as you love it. There should be no judgment on enjoyment.

Make celibacy a choice (or not)

I’m incredibly tactile, and it’s hard to describe how good a simple touch of the hand can feel when you haven’t seen anyone in a few days. An exchange of electricity you didn’t know you needed until it flows through you.

Intimate physical contact releases oxytocin, serotonin, and strengthens your immune system, the chemical components of love that you lack when you’re alone. After a little while, you can almost feel them ebbing away.

If you’re living with a partner it’s too late for social distancing, put some of those breaks I mentioned to use (maybe more than 15 minutes). Before you get mad that this is might be unsafe, I’ll hand over to a medical professional, infectious disease epidemiologist Dr Julia Marcus (source):

“If you live with a regular sexual partner and
you don’t have any symptoms, or likely exposure,
sex might actually be a really great way to have fun,
stay connected and relieve anxiety
during this potentially stressful time.”

Yup. And I just want to add that sex is yet another meditative act. You are both entirely there, or you’re doing it wrong. Nothing exists beyond what is communicated between you, and nothing matters outside that space.

If you’re not living with a partner, make it an active decision to take a break from intimate contact. Define a time period that ends after you expect to be back socialising. If it’s your choice, you gain back control. And given space, you get a clearer perception of the relationships in your life.

So if your sex life evaporated when the clubs shut and the hedonism dried up, maybe that’s worth thinking about. Who do you want to call, knowing that sex is out for now? Call them. Start something slow, let it build.

Create something

I’m lucky. I’ve spent years building a life around creating things. Articles, stories, speeches or scripts are something I can read it, listen to or watch. Something that has a presence in the world, however small.

Every job adds something to the world, but not every job gives the satisfaction of creation. That’s okay. But you have time now. Find a project for the isolated evenings. Make it something that you can see, hear or touch. Write some bad poetry. Put up some shelves. Draw a weird blobby picture to go on your fridge. Write some mediocre poetry. Start playing the guitar again. Get some plants and don’t kill them. Write some good poetry. Learn German… you’ve been living in Berlin for how long?

Do anything that gives you something to look at when you’re done for the night. Then, when comes to the inevitable question of “what did I do today?” you can look at that thing and say “That. I did that today.”

It’s a terrifying, oppressive and outright weird period of time. But it’s one we can use to get some space, figure some things out and to create some cool stuff we can take with us out into whatever the world will be when it’s over.

Stay safe, wash your hands and stop hoarding toilet paper.

How to Self-Isolate and Stay Sane was originally published in The Startup on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.